Enemies Closer
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: It mystified Barty that Harry Potter could look straight into his face and not suspect that he was looking at an enemy. Written for the Balloons event in the 2014 Hogwarts Fair.


Author's Notes: Written for the Balloons (plot bunny prompt) event at the 2014 Hogwarts Fair.

_Prompt: It is someone's mission, other than Voldemort, to destroy Harry for some reason._

)O(

It mystified Barty that Harry Potter could look straight into his face and not suspect that he was looking at an enemy.

How it was that he could stand not three feet away from him, blathering on about classwork, and not see what was so blatantly obvious, Barty would never understand. He was sure that _he_ would have seen through superficial disguses and sensed when he was looking at someone who wanted to kill him.

It would have been so blasted _easy_ too. The stupid boy was right there in front of him, blind and innocent and never fearing for even a moment that he was in the presence of an enemy. If only the Dark Lord didn't need him, Barty would not have hesitated to make him pay...

He could feel the weight of Moody's wand at his side, ready to be used. His fingers itched to wrap around it, to draw it out, to use the curse that he had thought of so many times but been unable to employ for so long. Potter didn't seem to notice in the slightest the battle raging inside Barty – a battle between the wish to be obedient to the Dark Lord and the wish to exact revenge upon the boy who had ruined everything. No surprise; he was a stupid little brat. He didn't deserve to go on living. He didn't deserve to be part of the Dark Lord's plan. He certainly didn't deserve to be _needed_ by the Dark Lord.

The boy babbled on witlessly about the classwork he didn't understand, and Barty felt his hand twitch towards the wand, however he tried to still it. It could be done so easily, and with so little wasted time or effort – kill the boy, siphon off the blood that his Master needed, take Moody out of the trunk and let him take the fall for it, disappear into the ether until the resurrection potion was ready, and no harm done by dispatching the boy a little sooner than they had planned...

But the Dark Lord had given him orders. The Dark Lord wanted to kill Potter himself.

_Damn the Dark Lord! Damn his theatrics! Let me kill the boy now, and he will never be a danger again!_

It was a struggle to tamp down those thoughts, however much he reproved himself for his defiance. He was a loyal Death Eater – _the most loyal_ – and a loyal Death Eater should not think even for a moment of going against his Master's orders. And yet,_ and yet!_ It would be so much wiser, infinitely wiser, to be rid of the boy now, take away any more risks of the plans going wrong...

"Professor?"

Potter had trailed off, and he was looking at Barty with a mildly confused expression.

"What?"

"Are you all right?"

"Haven't been all right since the war," he said gruffly. Potter swallowed and his eyes travelled very quickly to Moody's peg leg, his mutilated nose, and then to the eye that could see right through him. Barty allowed one corner of his mouth to twist up slightly. Potter looked a touch unsettled, but nothing like he would have looked like if he knew the thoughts running through Barty's head behind that smile.

The bell sounded for classes, and Potter twitched and edged towards the door.

"Have to be going, Professor," he mumbled, then he darted out.

As soon as the room was empty, Barty shoved his hand into his robes and gripped the handle of Moody's wand as tightly as he could, until the ridges in the wood felt like they were cutting through his flesh. The effort it was taking to restrain himself was unbearable.

_Kill the boy, it's the right thing to do, it's what's best for everyone!_

He closed his eyes – not that it made a difference; Moody's mad eye never rested, and he could still see the classroom every bit as clearly with his eyes closed as with them open.

_I have my orders_.

He could not kill Potter. Not yet.

But he would have his hand in his destruction, and he would ensure it as certainly as if he cut his throat.

)O(

_Fin_


End file.
